Charmed and Dangerous (13 page)

Where was Shriver?

The elevator door dinged open.

David took her into his arms. Her pulse quickened.

Their eyes met.

And then he was kissing her.

For one breathtaking moment she couldn’t even remember what they were doing on the Eiffel Tower. All she could think about was the pressure of his mouth on hers.

Her knees went weak. Even through the layers of his clothing, she could feel the heavy beating of his heart. In spite of the cold, he felt blisteringly hot and wonderfully solid against her body.

David pulled his lips away but crushed her in his embrace. “Watch the people getting off the elevator,” he whispered, yanking her back to reality.

“Okay.”

“Do you see Shriver?”

She scanned the group stepping off. All she had to identify Shriver by was the photograph they’d found in Cassie’s locker. If he’d changed his look, she wouldn’t recognize him. But he was supposedly carrying the Cézanne in brown paper wrapping. That should make him much easier to spot.

But no one in this crowd was carrying anything that remotely resembled a priceless work of art.

“No,” she whispered back. “But there’s a bald, pock-marked man of about thirty going over to talk to Levy. He’s wearing a leather jacket and skull and cross bone tattoos, numerous body piercings and wearing hobnailed boots.”

David inhaled audibly.

She looked into his face, saw a grim expression furrowing his forehead. What? She telegraphed him the question with her eyes.

He shook his head and then covertly, they both peeked at the dude deep in conversation with Levy.

“Shit,” David hissed.

“What is it? What’s happening?” Maddie asked just as Henri appeared at David’s elbow. She splayed a hand against her throat, felt her pulse flutter frantically.

“That’s Jocko Blanco,” David muttered.

At the very same moment Henri said, “My crew tells me Shriver went into the Louvre. He’s opened the package he was carrying. It’s not the Cézanne, but a sketchpad.”

“Shit,” David repeated himself. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What’s happening?” Maddie asked, fear a rock in her throat.

“I was wrong. Shriver didn’t come here to fence the Cézanne to Levy,” David said grimly. “He’s come to rob the Louvre!”

Chapter

NINE

H
OW DO YOU
know he’s going to rob the Louvre?” Maddie whispered.

“It’s part of Shriver’s MO. He goes to a targeted museum ostensibly to sketch paintings, but what he’s really doing is casing the security system,” David explained. “The painting he sketches is the one he eventually steals. Then he always leaves the sketch behind at the scene.”

“So he enjoys taunting you.”

“Yeah.” David grit his teeth. To Henri he said, “Are your men able to see what painting Shriver is sketching?”

Henri passed the question on to his team over the two-way radio and waited for the answer. He made a sour face. “You’re not going to believe it.”

“Let me take a wild guess. The Mona Lisa.”

Henri nodded. “Surely even Shriver isn’t that daring.”

“Who knows what that crazy sonofabitch is capable of? All I know is that he’s
not
going to get away with it this time.”

After ten years of having his failure flaunted in his face, David was past the point of no return. It was now or never. Shriver was going down. Already a plan was hatching in his head. A plan to exploit Maddie’s resemblance to her absent twin.

“What about Levy and Blanco?” Henri asked, inclining his head in their direction. The two men were still absorbed in conversation, apparently unaware that just a few feet away they were being observed by Interpol and the FBI.

“Let’s step back and regroup for now. But keep the surveillance team on Levy and add a man to watch Blanco.”

“It’s done,” Henri said. “Do you suppose they are in on this heist with Shriver?”

“Either that or they’re plotting revenge for the double-cross on the Cézanne. Engrossed as they are, it very well could be the latter.”

“What about Cassie?” Maddie interrupted, nibbling her bottom lip and fidgeting in her handbag for some Rolaids.

“Yeah, well . . .” David scratched his beard-roughened chin. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

She folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “So talk.”

“Not here. Let’s go grab some lunch and we’ll discuss it over a beer.”

“It’s four-thirty in the afternoon.”

“Okay, so it’s an early dinner.” He cupped his hand under her elbow and headed for the elevator, but she balked.

“I don’t care about food. I want to find my sister.”

“We’ll get to that. I promise. In the meantime, you need to keep up your strength or you won’t be any good to anyone.”

That convinced her.

“Nothing fancy,” she said. “Let’s just eat and get on with it.”

“There’s an English style pub that serves fish and chips a couple of blocks from here.”

“Sounds perfect.”

The pub was dim and smoky. The smell of nicotine had David itching for a cigarette. He asked for a table in the back. They selected the fish and chips over the steak and kidney pie and David ordered a pint of Guinness.

“Want a beer?”

Maddie shook her head. “I don’t drink much.”

“Well if ever there was a time to imbibe, it’s now. We’re tired, frustrated and road weary. A drink might just take the edge off.”

“You’ve got a point.” To the waitress she said, “Crown Royal, neat.”

“Whoa.” No wonder the woman ate antacids like candy.

“I figure if I’m going to drink I might as well go for the gusto,” she said.

“Gusto is one thing. A coma is something else.”

“One shot of whisky isn’t going to put me in a coma.”

What the hell? Why not join her? It had been a long time since he’d sipped whisky. “I’ll have a Crown Royal too.”

“Now,” Maddie said, once the waitress had departed. “Where do we stand?”

David studied her across the table. In the darkly lit room her hair was a richer blonde. Her lips glistened moistly from where she’d wet them with the tip of her tongue. Watching her gave him a shiver clear to the bottom of his spine.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear and he caught a glimpse of an opal earring nestled in her lobe. He wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was.

The waitress returned with their drinks. David took a sip of whisky and grimaced as the velvety smooth burn traveled down his throat. Maddie circled the rim of her glass with her index finger.

Around and around.

Mesmerized, David watched her fingers stroke the glass and he couldn’t keep himself from imagining what it would feel like to have her drawing those same luxurious circles on his bare skin.

“So what happens next?” she asked.

“Um, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.” How was he going to get this topic started?

“I’m listening,” she said.

He held up his palms. “What I’m about to tell you is going to piss you off, but I want you to hear me out before you go ballistic. Can you do that?”

Maddie picked up her glass and in one long swallow chugged the whiskey without even blinking.

David winced, amazed. Not one to be bested by anyone, much less a woman in a drinking competition, he gulped the rest of his whisky too.

“All right. Lay it on me,” she said at the same time the waitress brought their fish and chips. “Oh and could I have another Crown Royal, please.”

“Yes, miss. What about you, sir?”

“Make mine a double,” he said, deliberately holding Maddie’s gaze.

“Me too.” She did not look away.

“Two doubles. I’ll just pop round to the bar and fetch it for you,” the waitress said.

Maddie dug into her fish with gusto, sprinkling the fried pollock with malt vinegar. He liked watching her eat. There was something incredibly sensual in the way her pink tongue darted out to whisk away crumbs from her lips.

David got so caught up in her process he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He felt nice and warm from the whisky and he was enjoying the buzz.

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m listening. Piss me off.”

This wasn’t going to be fun, but he wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Cassie’s not in Paris.”

She stopped with a French fry half way to her mouth. “What?”

“Cassie’s not in Paris,” he repeated.

“Where is she?”

He cleared his throat. “Madrid.”

“What?” Maddie asked so low and controlled he knew she was way more than pissed off. If looks could kill, he would have had forty stab wounds and a gunshot hole or ten.

“Shriver came to Paris. Cassie went to Madrid.”

“How long have you known this?” She put the French fry down on her plate and fisted her hand.

She wants to punch me something awful.

Why that thought should charge his sexual engines, David had no clue, but it did.

“Since we landed.”

“I see.” She clenched her jaw. “I promised to hear you out before losing my temper. Go ahead. Tell me why you deceived me.”

“I thought we were about to nab Shriver passing off the Cézanne to Levy and I knew you would demand to go to Madrid immediately if I told you.”

“Darn straight.”

He steepled his fingertips. “Here’s the deal. I’m working out a plan to entrap Shriver and I need your help. In exchange, I promise to see that all charges against Cassie are dropped.”

“There wouldn’t be any charges in the first place if you hadn’t recruited her. You’re responsible for this.” She was struggling to control her anger. He could see it in the jumpy pulse fluttering at her throat and the way she carefully enunciated each word.

“I didn’t force her to run off with Shriver.”

“She was an unwilling victim.”

“If that’s the case, why is she in Madrid while Shriver is here?”

He had her on that one. Maddie glared and folded her arms over her chest. “Cassie did not steal the Cézanne.”

“The folks at the Kimbell don’t see it that way.”

“And neither do you.”

“I’m offering you a chance to get your sister off the hook, scot free. Help me catch Shriver and we’ll forget all about Cassie.” David leaned back in his chair, watching her face and praying she would agree to his scheme.

The waitress set their drinks in front of them and Maddie polished off the double whisky as if it was Kool-Aid. She set her glass down and ordered another double.

“Don’t you think you better slow down?”

She looked pointedly at his glass. “I think if you want to convince me to go along with your scheme you better keep up with me drink for drink.”

“Is this a challenge?”

She shrugged.

Damn but the woman was dynamite. He didn’t appreciate being goaded into drinking too much but he hated looking like a lightweight. He tossed the whisky down his throat and forced himself not to make a face at the acrid curl of heat spiraling down his throat. Or at the way his brain bobbled.

“He’ll have another double, too,” Maddie said to the agog waitress.

David’s vision swam momentarily, but he shook it off. Maddie was watching him like the proverbial canary-eating cat. She thought he was a wuss. Well, he was beginning to think she was the queen of boozers. Who’d have thought a cautious, worrywart possessed such a high tolerance for hooch?

Never mind. He could handle this. Focus, concentrate. He blinked at her and smiled.

She smiled back and coyly lowered her eyelids. Was she feeling as sexy as he was? His heart thumped. He couldn’t help but notice how well she filled out that print shirt. He chided himself for noticing but he couldn’t stop sneaking covert peeks.

“Okay,” he said, struggling to get his tongue in gear without slurring his words. “Here’s the plan. I want you to impersonate Cassie. That shouldn’t be too hard for you. We’ll just get you sexier clothes.”

At the thought of Maddie prancing around in the skimpy outfits Cassie preferred, David’s temperature soared. But if his plot was going to work, Shriver had to believe Maddie was her twin sister. And Cassie wore tight skirts, super high heels and belly baring blouses.

“What else?” She cocked her head and eyed him speculatively.

Funny, she didn’t seem the least bit impaired from downing three double shots of whisky in less than fifteen minutes.

“Shriver is staying at the Hotel de Louvre. Henri’s team still has him under strict surveillance. We want you to go to his hotel room, pretending to be Cassie and tell him you found out the digital signature code that will shut down the alarm system at the Louvre from your friend who works at the Prado. The Prado and the Louvre now have the same security system so he’ll believe you.”

“Then what?”

“You and Shriver will break into the Louvre and steal the Mona Lisa together.”

“You’re asking me to commit a crime?”

“Under the auspices of Interpol and the FBI. We’ll let you get away and then swoop down when Shriver passes the art off to Levy.”

“How do you know he’ll pass the art off to Levy?”

“Because,” David said, “before you go see Shriver, you’ll call Levy, pretending to be this fabulously wealthy countess referred to him by a mutual collector who wants a bargain for a very special work of art for her daughter’s birthday. Levy knows exactly where to go for such a unique gift.”

“Shriver.”

“You got it.”

“Don’t you think Levy will be suspicious after we tailed him to the Eiffel Tower? He’s got to know he’s under surveillance.”

“Levy’s always under surveillance. He’s the biggest art fence in Europe. He expects it. All part of his usual routine.”

“I dunno.” She shook her head.

“About what?”

“I can’t trust you. You turned against my sister, how do I know you won’t do it again?”

“Your sister was the one who turned, not me.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll fall madly in love with Shriver too.”

She enjoyed yanking his chain. If he hadn’t been on the verge of drunkenness, he would have realized it sooner. He decided to ignore that last remark.

“Here’s the bottom line. Help us catch Shriver and your sister goes free. Don’t help and she’s right back to being an accomplice.”